


Lesser Sin

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-09
Updated: 2006-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Lesser Sin

The bell rang for the change of watch, and Archie began to listen, though his hands didn't tremble on the pages of his book nor his eyes leave the words. Outwardly, he had not even noticed the sound. Inwardly, his entire being focused on listening, listening, awaiting the sound of footsteps across the wardroom floor.

It took a few moments, of course. The arriving and departing officers of the watch would converse for a time. Perhaps Horatio would pause at the railing and look out at the sea under the stars. And of course he was likely tired, and would walk slowly, even more so than dictated by his dignity. But nevertheless, one solemn step at a time, he would make his way down to the wardroom, and Archie listened so as not to miss his arrival.

Finally, the strike of boots across the planks. Archie set his book aside and slid down beneath his blanket, turning onto his side to face the doorway and Horatio's cot, pillowing his head on his hand.

Horatio stepped inside, his face shadowed by his hat, his steps heavy. He glanced toward Archie's bed as he removed the hat and pushed halfheartedly at his curls. The two men exchanged small smiles, but neither spoke.

Horatio placed his hat in its accustomed spot and began to unbutton his jacket, engaging each button as slowly and deliberately as a navigational problem. Archie shifted under his blanket, watching intently: the play of long, fine fingers over dark blue wool, the slide of each button through a buttonhole, its shine briefly muffled and then bright again.

Finally the jacket was off, and hanging on its peg in neat and proper order, and the dance began anew with the buttons of the waistcoat. Horatio gazed absently off into the corner of the cabin, his eyes heavy-lidded, seemingly a man in a dream as he freed himself of the garment and set it aside.

He paused then, glancing over again at where Archie lay, still watching. Only the sound of their breathing broke the silence, creating a rhythm in the air of the cabin as steady and hypnotic as pagan drums.

Horatio sat on the edge of his cot and drew one leg up to cross the ankle over his other knee, and set to work at loosening the lacing of his boot. A moment's effort and he swung his foot to the floor again, bracing the heel against his opposite toe and levering his foot free, a soft but audible sigh of relief escaping his lips as he withdrew his leg from the boot-shaft.

The procedure was repeated for the other boot, and still not a word, not a whisper. The boots were permitted to remain tumbled there on the floor instead of being placed beside his sea-chest; Horatio was tired indeed. His hands rose and wandered idly through a series of motions: loosening the lacing at the throat of his shirt, slipping the ribbon from his queue, finally alighting at the hollow of his throat and beginning to work at the knot of his stock.

Black silk wound around Horatio's fingers and slid free with an audible rasp as it crossed his skin. Archie swallowed convulsively, watching wide-eyed as Horatio reached out and dropped the stock atop his waistcoat, then sighed and stood again to remove his breeches.

Again he approached the buttons solemnly, slowly, methodically, and again Archie watched. Each motion, each minor brush of calloused fingers across the weave of the cloth, was as a dance to Archie's eyes. The most calculated maneuvers of the most polished courtesan could not have enchanted him more than the sight of Horatio Hornblower undressing for bed.

The breeches came away and lay folded atop the waistcoat as well, and Horatio lowered himself to the cot again, whimpering softly with the relief of being off his feet. He peeled his stockings off and tossed them to the floor beside his boots, then swung his legs up into the cot and stretched out to his full length, his head on the pillow and one hand pressed over his eyes.

Archie swallowed and shifted in his bed, turning onto his stomach though he kept his head cocked toward Horatio. Horatio lifted his hand and turned his head to look toward Archie, his eyes shadowed and his expression unreadable.

Good Lieutenant Hornblower, of the solemn face and stern demeanor; weary Lieutenant Hornblower now, in need of a rest from his duty, and yet his eyes didn't close. They continued to study Archie's face across the narrow space, dark and fathomless, compelling, and Archie could not have looked away on the orders of any Admiral in the fleet.

Horatio's hand drifted from his face, lighting on his chest and sliding slowly down his body, catching the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to his ribs, exposing the pale flesh of his stomach to the faint light. His hand hesitated there for a moment, tanned fingers splayed across white skin, then moved again, down to slip the tie on his smallclothes and ease them off past his hips.

He did not look at Archie again; his eyes drifted half-closed, in fact, his teeth worrying his lower lip as his hand moved slowly, lazily, exploring his own flesh heavy and soft between his legs. He curled his hand around himself and squeezed gently, then slid his thumb slowly along the length, a soft sigh escaping him.

He continued to touch himself slowly, lightly, the angle of his legs and the fold of his blanket keeping Archie from seeing his actions as he shifted to a more comfortable position. Archie followed the slowly rising pleasure indirectly, tracking the hardening of Horatio's cock under his hand and the quickening of the pulse in his veins by watching Horatio's face. The parting of his lips, the blush under his skin as his hand moved faster, the flutter of his dark lashes against his cheeks, they all were signs and portents. A soft moan finally broke the stillness and Archie nearly choked, his throat dry and his own prick hard and aching against his cot as he watched Horatio.

Horatio was breathing rapidly now, his free hand rising to brush his curls from his forehead, trailing across the skin now lightly beaded with sweat. His left leg, nearest Archie, was bent at the knee and raised; he straightened it along the cot, exposing himself to Archie's view. His cock was flushed dark under his hand, which slid quickly along the length now, guiding him toward climax.

Horatio's head fell to the side and he opened his eyes at last, meeting Archie's gaze. His eyes were no longer unreadable, but dark and hot with desire, hunger that could not be sated here in their cabin, only kept silent and channeled, directed to a lesser sin.

Horatio's hips rose from the cot and he gave a low, choked gasp that trailed off into a sigh as he came. His eyes closed again as he caught his breath, scrubbing his hand absently against his shirt-tail. He shifted his legs again, stretching them until Archie heard a dull pop from one knee or ankle. Archie could smell the sweat and musk, hear Horatio's rough breathing, see the play of light and dark on his skin: only touch and taste were denied him, inadequately supplied by memory.

Horatio's eyes opened again, once more seeking Archie's face. He smiled, a sweet and groggy thing, and arched an eyebrow in silent question. Archie smiled back and reached out to snuff the lantern, sending the room into darkness where they could both dream.  



End file.
